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My dad’s birthday is this week, and his wish was for the family to attend his childhood church. This past Sunday, we fulfilled that wish and went to services at Saulsbury Baptist Church.

I have heard my dad tell stories about growing up in that congregation. He has talked about playing checkers with the pastor, Brother Albert Jewel. He has talked about joining the church when he was a small child and how his mom was worried that he was too young to make that decision. He has talked about the sanctuary being filled and people sitting in the alcoves on the side.

Thinking back on those stories, I realize that Saulsbury Baptist Church was more than a church. It was an important part of an isolated rural community. Every Sunday, people took winding roads from the surrounding hills and hollows to see each other and worship. Brother Jewel was more than a preacher. He was a central pillar of the community.

That community was Saulsbury, a place that cannot be found on a map. Sometimes, I think it was more of a state of mind. Watertown is the nearest town and has never been populated by more than a few hundred people. Some of the folks in Saulsbury had electricity. None of them had indoor plumbing. If there was a telephone, then it was on a party line. There were a few stores, but, mostly, there was the church.

I have my own memories of Saulsbury Baptist Church. When I was a kid, my parents would visit and drag my brother and I along. When I say drag, I mean it. Going to Saulsbury was not my favorite thing. Looking back, I should not have had that attitude.

We went on special occasions which usually meant going to a “dinner on the ground.” The members brought food for a huge picnic after the service. The women tried to outshine each other with their dishes. Desserts were the big competition, but it also happened with other foods. I have always loved deviled eggs, and there would always be several platters full. However, there is a thing about deviled eggs. They are either good or bad. There is not much in between. I learned at Saulsbury Baptist Church to scout out deviled eggs carefully.

I also have memories of the services. Like good Baptists, we sat in the back pews. People whose names I could never remember came by to talk to us. My grandmother sang in the choir. Somebody played the piano. Somebody played the organ. Brother Jewel always preached. He was there for fifty years.

I remember thinking that everyone was old. I am sure that they were not as old as I thought, but I always felt uncomfortable around old people. That is why going to Saulsbury was not my favorite thing.

On Sunday, the experience was different. We sat in our usual pews, but the other ones were empty. Only twenty people were in attendance, and we made up almost half of that number. The alcoves were closed. There were seats for a choir but no choir. There was a piano but no one to play it. There was an organ but no one to play it. There was a baptismal pool but no one to be baptized. There was a preacher, but it was not Brother Jewel. It was a man who does it part-time.

Saulsbury Baptist Church, which was an important part of an isolated rural community, is dying. It is sad, but it is true. Over the past few days, I have been thinking about the reasons.

My dad would never want to read this, but I think it started with his generation. Many of them left the hills and hollows to do something other than work on the farm. As his generation and the following generations moved on, Saulsbury Baptist Church never had a chance. The older generations were still there, but they would not be there forever.

Those were the generations that were making the desserts and deviled eggs of my memories. I thought everyone was old because they were the age of my grandparents and older. There were not that many people younger people around. There were few people the age of my parents and fewer people the age of me.

On top of that, the federal government built an interstate through the middle of Saulsbury. This meant that the community was splintered and no longer isolated. A splintered community with citizens who can get somewhere else quickly does not need a church at its center.

As we left Saulsbury Baptist Church, we passed a lot of houses. There may be more people living in that area now than there were when my dad was growing up. However, these people live in a different world. They are not isolated. They can get on the interstate and be at their jobs in a matter of minutes. They do not have to work on a farm in a hallow. They can breathe the country air and have access to anything they want.

They want to go to a church with activities for their kids. They want to go to a church with people who are an extended family. They want to go to a church that is a central part of the larger community.

Saulsbury Baptist Church used to be all of those things to the people who lived in the surrounding hills and hollows. Now, it is that little church around the bend that people pass on their way to somewhere else.

(Before I go any further, I should say that my wife is not a time traveler from the early 1900s, and she does make comments that are more 21st Century sounding.)

When she says that, I start wondering, “Who is Pete, and why do we care about his love?” For that matter why do we care about Pete’s sake?

It turns out that Pete is an euphemism for God because people do not want to take God’s name in vain. After all, God plays an important role in our eternal existence. Blaspheming against Pete is not that big of a deal because he does not have anything to do with that.

However, using Pete as a euphemism leads to another question. Why Pete? There are plenty of other sayings that have been created to avoid breaking the commandment against blasphemy.

Gosh

Golly

Gosh Darn

Jiminy Cricket – although he seemed like a pretty good guy in Pinocchio

Egad

Gadzooks

Anyway, you get the point and can see how those words replace words at would be blasphemous. However, Pete just does not fit in the list.

As near as I can tell, Pete is Saint Peter, the apostle that Jesus said would be the rock upon which the church would be built.

This means that Pete actually had a role in our eternal life. If he had not spread the news of the church, then religion would be a lot different. In other words, taking Pete’s name in vain may not be a great idea.

Of course, Pete may not be Saint Peter.

I used to work with a guy named Pete, In fact, he is the only Pete I have ever known. Well, that may not count because Pete was his nickname, and I am certain that he would not want me to reveal his real name on a blog. Surely, he is not the Pete that everyone talks about.

It really all comes down to this. I have no idea who Pete is, but I want him to know that I hear about him all of the time.

It was a dark and foggy night, and I was driving down a two-lane highway after a late night out. The headlights in the fog made the night look ominous, and my eyes were tired. In short, it was a good time to see things that might not actually be there.

I drove around a curve to see a police car sitting on the left side of the road. It was facing away from me, and, like my car, its headlights were hitting the fog. I could see something standing in the headlights and the officer standing by his car.

I slowed down, which was a good thing. If I had not been on my breaks, then I might have run off the road.

Jesus was standing in front to the police car. The headlights and the fog made his white gown glow. His arms were outstretched and he was looking into the sky.

For a second, I thought I had driven into the Second Coming. He was even coming from the east, and, like the Bible says, that is where Jesus will be coming from.

Obviously, it was not Jesus. It was some guy who was walking around looking like Jesus. However, I cannot overstate how freaky it was. Even the officer looked like he was taken aback.

Well, I guess it was not Jesus. Who knows? The End Times could be upon us. If that is the case, then I can say that I was there when Jesus appeared to a police officer in Tennessee. I can also be proud of the fact that I did not wreck.

When my last post was published, I realized that a milestone had been reached. Yep, it was post number 666. Most people know what that means to Christians around the world. It shows up in the Book of Revelation and has become associated with the Antichrist.

To mark this auspicious occasion, I decided to look into this number and see what else is out there. A recent project of mine would be a good place to start.

I read the Bible from cover to cover. At church, they always take out verses and talk about them. It seemed to me that the Bible is a book, and books are meant to be read. In other words, I felt that I would understand it better by reading the verses within the context of the overall work. I will not go into detail about all of that, but I will say this. The number 666 turns up a few times before the Book of Revelation.

Every year, Solomon collected 666 talents of gold.

It is also the number of Adonikam’s descendants who return from Babylonian exile.

Outside the realm of Christianity, the number does some other things.

The numbers of the roulette wheel add up to 666. That is a good reason for me to stick to Blackjack.

The Chinese consider it to be a lucky number.

In Lafayette, Tennessee, which I wrote about a few posts ago, it was the telephone prefix. Growing up, I was always intrigued by that fact.

Despite the luck of the Chinese and the telephones of a small Tennessee town, 666 dominates as a number of evil. With that in mind, we will delve into the dark reaches of my iPod and see what devilish tunes lurk within its bounds.

I realize that it was just the other day when I put together an iPod post. However, this one is different. Yesterday, a funeral was held for a friend of mine who died way too young. It was an inspiring service, but it was heartbreaking for everyone. His passing is a tragedy that will always be felt by those who knew him.

My iPod has a playlist of songs about God and all things heavenly. Some are spiritual. Some are secular. I share a few of them with you to honor Matt.

This past Sunday, we attended church and continued our search for the right congregation. We have been to several places. Some of them we liked. Some of them we did not like. Others we found to be middling. In the process, we have seen old friends and met some new people. I know we will find the right church.

I grew up in a Southern Baptist congregation and was not exposed to other denominations. As a result, it has been interesting to notice the differences among the places we have been. It has made me think about how the Christian belief has divided itself into varied pieces. They all believe in the life, death a resurrection of Jesus, but, from there, the things go in all kinds of directions.

During a recent sermon, my mind began to wander toward those differences and the time when many of them began – the day Martin Luther nailed his 95 Theses on the door of the church. It was a world-changing moment that kickstarted the Protestant Reformation.

Do not worry. I am not going into the history of religion. Instead, I am going into my childish brain. I have not taught World Civilization in a few years, but, when I did, I always showed a documentary about Martin Luther. I figure the experts on the screen can explain his life and importance better than me.

Anyway, the documentary is divided into sections, and one is entitled “Diet of Worms.” I know the correct pronunciation of that event, but my brain always registers it with the southern United States pronunciation. That is when my childish brain starts working, and I cannot hold back a smile.

Did they punish Martin Luther by making him eat bait?

Was that the menu at the cafeteria? If yes, then it is no wonder that they were uptight.

Did they order out and some servant come back with the wrong thing? I can hear him trying to explain how the drive-thru window got it wrong.

I know that the Diet of Worms was another important event in history. Martin Luther’s life was on the line, and he stood firm with his criticisms of the Catholic Church. This, along with help from some powerful leaders, brought about the Protestant Reformation. Of course, that means the churches we have been visiting owe their existence to the people and events during that time.

I wonder how many Protestants know that. I also wonder how many Protestants would be as childish as me if they heard about the Diet of Worms.

By the way, ask some people about Martin Luther and see how many talk about his “I Have a Dream” speech. It will probably be more than you think.